


Conflict of Instinct

by BastardBin



Category: Among Us (Video Game), Hermitcraft RPF
Genre: Etho doesn't understand humans or emotions, M/M, Multi, No Character Death, Shapeshifting, The Skeld (Among Us), along with relationships as they happen, character tags will be added as they appear, emotionally repressed etho, etho casually plotting murder, mildly morbid narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28273668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BastardBin/pseuds/BastardBin
Summary: Etho has never failed a mission. He's left countless crews floating dead in space all on his own, any help he's ever been given getting themselves caught anyway. It's no surprise he's the lone imposter chosen to complete the most unorthodox mission he's ever heard of, to infiltrate and kill eleven crewmates all on his own, and he has no issue with doing so.That is, until he gets too close.(as part of a collaboration with cooler-cactus-block on tumblr)
Relationships: Crewmate/Imposter (Among Us), Etho/Grian, Etho/everyone (eventually)
Comments: 118
Kudos: 260





	1. Cyan

**Author's Note:**

> sup me and Ecto went rabid over among us content and decided to make our own so here we are with an imposter Etho fic/art collab where instead of murder we just give Etho eleven boyfriends please enjoy

They had a system.

It was a system put in place to ensure their victories, to match best their resources against the task at hand to achieve the outcome they fought for. A system which was followed, time and time again, by all of them; with successes and defeats alike in their wake. They learned early not to deviate, to try new things they hadn’t already seen, or else be plunged forth into the cold embrace of the star filled nothing. Experimentation was discovery, and discovery was death.

He didn’t question it. He followed the system, let the formula run its course, each and every time he was given it. Team up with another of his kind, be sent to disappear into the ranks of some unknowing crew, and come out with no one else alive. He never saw a need for change, but then again, maybe his superiors were tired of wasting resources he clearly didn’t need.

Because despite his victories, his inevitably flawless record considering he would be dead otherwise, he always emerged _alone._ Whether he went in with one of his kind or two, in the end, only one would ever leave those ships still conscious in this universe. It was to no fault of his own; he simply didn’t risk himself to help when they tripped over their own actions. A caught lie here, a stuttered movement there, his partners always got themselves caught, leaving only him to complete their missions.

It didn’t matter to him. He never needed their help, anyway, or else he would be just as dead as they are.

But that’s exactly what led to his new mission, now, one unlike any other. Unorthodox, they called it, looming over him with his orders that were just the same as always, and yet so very different _._ The formula never changes, on either end; the humans arrange their ships with crews of ten or less, never more, and his kind replace a number of them with themselves. Not so many as to waste the effort, but not so few as to lose entirely. It was their song and dance in this war for survival, and it never changed.

They said they were impressed. They said they knew he could handle it, just the same as every other ship he’d left floating as lifeless as its slaughtered crew in the farthest reaches of space. That he was their top choice for a mission so difficult as this. And so he found himself here, pulling carefully formed human hands into cyan gloves, staring at a crew of eleven humans, standing on his own from the very beginning.

It was exactly the same as always, and yet different. Unorthodox. _New._

He should have known where that would lead.

* * *

Etho interacts with them just enough to fit in, and no further. He has no need for their small talk, their getting to know each other, their learning of each other’s names. None of it will matter after they’re dead, and he doesn’t need it taking up space in his head alongside what their bodies will become after he’s finished with them. He’s here for one thing and one thing only, and it isn’t to get friendly with them.

They try, anyway. That’s something he’s noticed with humans, how some will try to greet him and talk with him until he makes it clear he has no interest. It’s usually only a handful, the rest just as uncaring about these people they don’t know as he is, and even the ones that do make an effort seem to get bored or give up after some time. That’s the first difference he notices with this crew, aside from just how different this mission is by definition. They’re _friendly._

All of them.

It isn’t just a handful, a color here and there with a kind voice so alien to him, but the entire group of them. He’s sure they don’t know each other and have never met before, by the way they have to introduce themselves to each other, but they all act so eerily similar. He finds himself watching and listening, taking note of the ways they act and considering the possibility of defects, storing the behavior away for future missions.

When he’s satisfied with that, he moves on. His presence has been known, he has been greeted by a couple of them, and he has no further reason to stand around while they all chatter away. It’s not until after he’s boarded the ship ahead of them that he realizes it may have been a mistake, that if the entire group is friendly, his disinterested behavior will put him as the only odd one out, but it’s too late to change already. Turning back and rejoining them will only net him more attention, and he supposes he isn’t acting entirely non human, anyway. They may just take him as shy.

He tries to remember the last time he made a mistake like that. He can’t.

All the same, Etho isn’t alone on the ship for long. He takes the time to explore, to walk the halls and the rooms around him, taking note of the locations of vents. It’s the same as every other ship he’s ever been on, all of them built identical to one another in a way humans themselves are not, but he does it anyway. It makes itself an alibi for his behavior soon enough.

“Newbie, huh?” A voice calls to him, following his exploration. It doesn’t startle him, but he does turn, fixing his crewmate with a curious stare for them to continue. They’re in a dark green suit, any further features concealed beneath. “You look like you’ve never been on a Skeld before.”

“...Yes.” Etho nods, slowly. He’ll have to stick with that story and pretend he doesn’t know what he’s doing, but in his defense, he doesn’t actually know how this hurtling hunk of metal runs anyway. It’ll be a good alibi for tasks he isn’t trained to do like they are.

“In that case, welcome aboard, newbie!” The green crewmate, who seems to be male as best he can tell from their voice, puts his hands on his hips and seems to puff his chest out at him. “If you need any help, just come right to me. They don’t call me the G.O.A.T. for nothing!”

Etho blinks. He doesn’t know what a ‘goat’ is, or what it has to do with being helpful, but he knows better than to ask. Nodding stiffly back, he finds himself blinking as a green hand, formed into a fist, is held toward him.

“The name’s Doc, by the way.”

He’s seen this before. A red and a blue on another mission seemed to have something against the soft inner parts of their hands touching, possibly as a defensive precaution, and would bump the hard knuckle bones of their fists together instead. Etho mimics the action now, tapping a cyan fist against Green’s offered one in what he assumes to be some show of… companionship?

“I’m Etho.”

Green’s helmet moves in a nod, a single slow one that he identifies as being meant to show a cool acceptance toward him. Then the human moves past him, walking casually by his side in a way humans only ever do on the first day before anyone has died, and makes his way down the hall.

“I’m stationed in reactor if you need me.” Green calls, waving a hand over his shoulder as he goes without looking back. Etho takes note of his location.

He’s ready to move on with all of this, to get his mission underway and start taking out members of this crew as soon as possible, but he’s already accepted his alibi as an unfamiliar, new crewmate. He’ll look out of place if he goes straight ahead with full awareness of where the ship’s tablets are, leaving him no choice but to hover around now, waiting to be helped.

It reminds him why he usually doesn’t take this cover story, but it’s best to play into the crew’s assumptions on the first day, whatever they may be. Waiting around now is just a test of his patience and no real trouble, anyway; he’s seen enough anxious, uncertain humans to mimic their actions now. Standing by the door between electrical and storage, Etho knows he’s the spitting image of a nervous human, fidgeting his hands and inclining his head toward the floor as he waits for someone to find him.

Just as estimated, it works like a charm.

“Oh, are you new too?” A new voice crosses him, one that isn’t the green crewmate’s, and he looks up to see the one in pink approaching him. Orange is on their heels, holding something in their arms he doesn’t recognize. “We’re on our way to admin now if you’d like to come with us. You’ll need your standard Mira issued tablet before you can do any of your tasks.”

The voice is kind, much softer than the green crewmate before them. The orange one says nothing, only offering a small wave from a hand preoccupied by holding whatever the equally orange thing in their hands is, and shows no inhibition to walking beside Etho as the pink one takes the lead ahead of them both.

“I’m not sure if you caught it, you scampered off so fast. My name is Xisuma and I’m the captain of this mission, so if you need anything, come see me. I’ll be happy to help.” Pink talks as he walks, his head inclined back to show he’s speaking to them. Etho isn’t sure yet if the captain’s notable attention on his behavior is a cause for concern, but he decides to keep an eye on Pink all the same, just in case he starts to put the pieces together and needs to be removed first.

Besides, without a captain, the crew always descends into finger pointing and chaos easier anyway.

“This is my first mission without my mentor, too.” Orange pipes up from beside him, giving Etho an excuse to turn and try to look at the thing he’s holding. It appears to be a pet of some kind, in a space suit that nearly perfectly matches his own. “I’m Scar, and this is Jellie.”

Orange doesn’t say _what_ this ‘Jellie’ is, leaving Etho to just nod back at him and hope that isn’t information he might need. He gives a small wave, mumbling his own name back at his orange future target. The Jellie hisses at him.

“Jellie, don’t judge an astronaut by his space suit.” Orange scolds the pet, but it continues grumbling a low, angry noise in Etho’s general direction. He makes the calculated choice to take a step away instead of the part of him that wants to hiss back at the creature and show it who the real danger here is. He saw a partner do that once; he doesn’t think the airlock was worth it. “I’m sorry about her, she’s not usually like this.”

“It’s okay.”

Turning his head, Etho turns his attention back to their captain, standing in the admin room as they are now. Pink has wandered ahead, ignoring the conversation about the Jellie, and Etho sees him just in time to see him pluck two of the tablets from their charging station. “Here you go. Loaded up with all the information you’ll need, any tasks you’re assigned will be sent right to these first thing in the morning each day.”

Orange has to put his Jellie down to take the device, and the creature hisses once more at Etho before dashing off back into the hall, though its owner doesn’t follow it. The orange crewmate asks a question instead, something about the functionality of the device that earns him Pink’s direct attention to guide him through its mechanics. Distracted as they are, it gives Etho the chance he needs to slip the tiny chip in his glove into the charge port of the tablet, watching with satisfaction the way the user interface turns red for just a moment.

Then it’s back to normal, nothing on its screen to give him away as he tucks it away into his suit. His virus will need a small bit of time to work, to take hold of the rest of the ship and make way for the functional errors at his command only a screen press away at any time, but he’s well on his way with his mission so far. As soon as it’s ready, all he needs is to pull a distraction, get someone alone, and watch the crew tear itself apart at the first sign of a murder.

It’s a mission unlike any other in its construction, but functionally, they’re always the same.

[Art by cooler-cactus-block (Ecto)](https://cooler-cactus-block.tumblr.com/post/638341172136460288/there-is-one-imposter-among-us-so-this-has)


	2. Red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somewhere in the distance, this was created as i screamed into the void over Etho's characterization while Ecto doodled with crayons on the floor telling me it looks fine stop screaming

Patience is rewarded with survival. Etho likes to work quickly and efficiently, picking off members of the crew at each nearest opportunity, but only when the times are right. One wrong move, one wrong timing, one misstep is all it takes to be found and killed. It’s better to be smart and patient, to wait for a lone person caught in the dark with a door to be locked behind them, especially with a vent to escape away into. He’s seen far too many of his own kind ejected out into space, floating away into the nothing and slowly going still as the life drains from their twitching forms, to dare test his luck by being stupid.

So he waits. He lets the time tick by, the minutes to hours, from boarding to dinner to the crew settling fully into their new temporary residence, all without a move. He watches the way they get comfortable, the way they slowly fall into dynamics with each other, the ones that stick together and the ones that prefer to stay alone. It’s all data collection, notes to make for alibis and windows of opportunity later, but he doesn’t really have anything else to do anyway.

The pink captain seems easily distracted. He spends most of his time with his head in the wire panels or staring down at his tablet fiddling with things Etho isn’t sure are actually tasks he’s supposed to be doing, and the rest of his time is spent watching or helping the other crewmates. He’s a good captain, and he seems watchful of the state of everyone else, which only makes Etho further inclined to make sure to find an opportunity to remove him as soon as possible.

The green one and the red one don’t seem to get along as best Etho can tell. Red pokes at Green’s patience at any given opportunity, and Etho still isn’t sure if he’s just clueless or fully aware and doing it intentionally. It doesn’t matter, anyway, he supposes. They’ll be easy to turn on each other when the time comes, sow seeds of doubt into each other and let the crew decide to eject both of them to be safe. Besides, Etho has already noticed Red looking at him, watching him when he seems to think Etho doesn’t realize, and he’s concerned he may have already caught on. It would be safest to let Red take the fall for Pink’s demise.

Blue and Yellow also seem to stick together. Every time Etho sees them, they’re joined at the hip, as a past crewmate used to say before he dragged half of her into a vent. They don’t separate to do their tasks, instead following each other around and waiting for the other to finish before moving on to the next room, always standing by and watching their backs while they’re vulnerable. They’ll be difficult, he already knows; if he kills one, he can’t blame the other, since the rest of the crew won’t believe they’d hurt each other. He’ll have to separate them, or happen upon them in a rare moment of being alone. They don’t have to be his first targets, but they can’t be his last.

He hasn’t had a chance to watch many of the others yet. The white one seems to stay in the medbay, and he hasn’t seen purple anywhere on the ship yet, but he sets the thought of them aside for later. For now, he just lets the time pass, being careful to avoid the places and times he doesn’t want to be questioned for not participating.

Times such as exactly this moment; the dreaded, aforementioned dinnertime. It’s one of the things Etho would have to admit being the most difficult to navigate around, to fit in without raising suspicion when he cannot participate in one of the most common activities shared by all living beings. It’s the only thing that has ever consistently caused him trouble, the one thing that always gets at least one person to notice and question him, and has led to more than its fair share of necessary killings to silence the suspicion.

And it isn’t really something he can particularly change or do anything about. He’s seen the rations crewmates are given for their journeys through space, the plant based diets they function on, and knows they’re incompatible with himself. Forcing incompatible food down regardless just to fit in doesn’t end well, yet another thing he learned secondhand from a partner making the wrong choice. Besides, if the resulting malfunction of their physiological form was painful enough to disturb their shifting capabilities entirely, he doesn’t particularly want to experience it, suspicion or not.

Even if he did want to risk it, or pretend to eat their food, that would require removing his helmet and the mask underneath, and that poses a problem all its own that leaves the entire ordeal out of the question entirely. No, there is nothing he can do but avoid the cafeteria now, stay where he is with his back to a wall and out of sight, hoping no one realizes his absence. He doesn’t think they will, anyway; this is a very large crew, and people always slip between the cracks here and there, particularly the ones no one else knows well enough to think of.

All he has to do is watch through the reflection in the distant windows for the moment crewmates start getting up to return to their tasks, and then busy himself with a fake one of his own. There was a human on his last mission that another had described as a ‘workaholic’, foregoing their own survival needs in favor of doing more work beyond what was expected of them to the point of self detriment, and he thinks that sounds like a plausible cover story to use this time.

What he didn’t account for was another of the crew being late to the mealtime, outside of the cafeteria, and passing through weapons at this exact time.

“Hey, Cyan? You good there dude?” A gentle voice calls to him softly, sounding strangely reminiscent of the voices he’s heard some humans use for their pets. He’s not sure how to feel about that, but turns with wordless questioning anyway. “Shouldn’t you be in the cafeteria with everyone else?”

This is Brown. His helmet is off and held against his side, dark glasses sitting low on his nose as he looks over them at Etho with what the impostor identifies as concern. This is exactly what he wanted to avoid, being seen exhibiting further defected behavior, and he can’t risk killing Brown here now to silence him when the rest of the crew will only realize exactly which two crewmates were not at this mealtime. It leaves him no choice now but to lie, and without his hands in a faked task, he can’t even pretend to be a workaholic like he’d wanted.

In a split moment, Etho weighs through his options, filtering through possibilities and ideas, settling on the one he thinks has the best outcome in this situation. He looks away, raising a hand to the back of his neck and fidgeting under the gaze of the other.

“I, er…” The catch and pause sounds natural. From the corner of his visor, he can see Brown’s concern seem to deepen, his head tilting a bit as his investment in an answer grows.

“What’s wrong?”

Something Etho learned early on was the fact that even they, the shapeshifters born to mimic and fit in flawlessly, cannot keep endless lies straight. Lie after lie will do nothing but complicate the mission, leaving them tied up jumping through their own fantastical story weaving instead of actually getting the job done, as well as the risk of forgetting one and being blatantly caught in it. Lies are a tool meant to be used sparingly, and wherever possible, tied with the truth to make it past even the most perceptive of humans.

And so he does exactly that, mixing truth and lies and tying it all together with the kind of nervous vulnerability that humans so often feel increased affinity toward, long since versed in this song and dance of how to earn their good favor.

“I… don’t like to eat around others. It’s, um,” Etho gestures toward his own visor, his face hidden beneath his helmet where Brown cannot see it. “People tend to stare.”

Just as expected, Brown’s face shifts into one of sympathy. “Is it a self esteem thing, or…?”

Etho looks away, tightening his general posture inward on himself. “It’s a deformity.”

It is’t a lie, it isn’t even mixed with one, and the dangerous honesty is exactly the thing needed to fully sway Brown into silence. Etho doesn’t need the way he reaches out, clapping a brown hand onto a cyan shoulder in a show of support, but he pretends it means something to him anyway. “Hey, man, if anyone gives you trouble about it just let me know, okay? I don’t blame you for not wanting to risk it though. If you wanna avoid the crowds, or eat in your room later instead, I won’t say anything.”

Projecting a demeanor of relief, Etho deflates, visibly dropping some kind of tension he supposedly felt. “Thank you.” He breathes back, and gets a soft, warm smile in return for it.

“I’ll leave you to it, but don’t go too long without taking care of yourself, okay?” Brown starts to make his way past Etho, turning back with a mischievous grin and a wink. “And if you need to raid the kitchen after lights out, I’m always down to be a partner in crime.”

[Art by cooler-cactus-block (Ecto)](https://cooler-cactus-block.tumblr.com/)

Etho doesn’t think he’d still be saying that if he knew what crimes are actually going to happen on this ship, or what Etho taking care of himself means for the humans aboard, but he supposes there’s some kind of sentiment there anyway. It’s almost a shame, just how kind Brown is being for no gain of his own and how much that will be a waste once he’s dead, and Etho finds himself compelled to let him live for a bit longer than most of the rest of the crew. After this, he’ll probably see Etho as a friend that opened up about a vulnerability and vouch for him regardless of damning evidence, as well, which makes him useful. He’ll need that when it comes time to deal with Blue and Yellow.

For now, though, he needs to deal with the unfolding situation at hand. Even though Brown walks off into the cafeteria, his bright words of friendly greeting to the others echoing back into weapons as he goes, he’s still thrown a wrench into Etho’s cover. He can’t stay here and make an excuse for his absence in the form of overworking if Brown already knows that’s a lie, considering that course of action relies on Brown helping perpetuate said lie to cover for Etho’s supposed personal inhibitions, something that is not a certainty.

And in Etho’s line of work, things that are not certain are not safe to hope for or rely on. He has to take matters into his own hands to prevent the issue arising entirely.

Turning his back on the cafeteria, Etho lets the sounds of voices fade behind him. He’s alone in this hall, not a soul in sight as he makes his way along, but he’s careful still to project the image of a crewmate too nervous to go to mealtime with the others and too focused on finding more tasks to bother wasting the time anyway. He ducks into O2 for a moment for no real reason at all, and then checks wiring panels back out in the hall for malfunctions, making a perfect show of the hardworking crewmate for the flashing red light of the camera trained on him. Then he continues on his way, down the hall and out of sight into shields, to finally pull up his tablet and press a button.

The effect is near instantaneous. The lights above give a pitiful noise as their power source runs dry, something in the wiring somewhere being shut off and choking them to darkness, and Etho can nearly _feel_ the commotion it causes. His own sight is mostly unaffected, the colors of the ship around him only dampened in the absence of the reflective overhead lights, but the hall still very much just as clear to him as ever.

He makes his way further along and past comms, pausing for only a moment to glance into the room almost hidden behind a not fully shut door. The crewmate inside appears to pay absolutely no mind to the malfunction of the lights overhead, headphones still solidly over their ears as they speak with some other communication station on the other end, their color washed out by the glare of the screens in front of them. It’s unfortunate, but they aren’t a good target for him right now, despite being alone and with lights off. Besides the fact he’s the only one that came this way, a fact that will be known by the person on the cameras, killing this crewmate now mid call would do nothing more than alert the people back at the HQ that something has gone wrong.

As well, he can see that Jellie creature sleeping on the little box that creates the signals necessary for communications between the ship and other stations, and he feels like letting it see him kill someone wouldn’t be very good for his cover.

Etho moves on. It’s an opportunity, but not a good one. Instead, he makes his way into storage, hanging a left past the mass of crates in the center of the room to stay continually out of sight. He can hear the commotion from the cafeteria now; the drifting sound of confused and concerned voices, questioning what happened and where each other is, and pitching above them all, the high and confident tone of someone calling out their intention to fix the lights. _Bingo,_ as he’d heard a prior captain once say, upon ejecting someone that was not Etho just because they tripped over their own story against him in panic.

The low light mutes their color, but doesn’t prevent him from recognizing the form of a helmetless Red in the dark, running right for him on the other side of the crates. Weighing his options, Etho stays right where he is, waiting and not reacting when Red crashes directly into him, bouncing off toward the floor. He catches the crewmate before he can fall, seeing the way Red’s eyes go wide at the contact and the sudden appearance of his cyan acquaintance from the darkness.

“Oh, hi Etho!” Red practically squeaks, his voice going even higher than it had before. He’s staring up at him with that same look again, the watchful one that has made him worry about what this exact human may or may not have figured out about him so far. But Red strangely doesn’t try to pull away, create distance or escape like anyone suspecting him of being an imposter would, only staying frozen in his grip. “Funny seeing you here. Or not seeing you. Because it’s dark. And I didn’t see you.”

Etho blinks back at him. He’s not sure what any of that means, but he’s pretty sure that’s not to any fault of his own. The silence only seems to make Red fidget, until finally he yanks himself out of Etho’s grip. Still, the human doesn’t run, and he’s pretty sure he can see some kind of sparkle in his eyes like he’s excited for something.

“Hey, will you come fix lights with me?” He asks, something equally vulnerable and simultaneously mischievous distinctly on his face. If Etho didn’t know better, he’d say there was something suspicious about his behaviour, especially when his next words register as a blatant lie. “I’m nervous about going on my own.”

That’s not what his prior confidence before running into Etho implies, but regardless of whatever is going on with this human, he’s created the opportunity Etho was looking for. It’s almost a shame that Red turns out to be his first victim after all, the plans of letting him take the fall for Pink’s death slipping through Etho’s grasp, but it’s better to take the best opportunities that fall into reach than to stubbornly stick to a plan just because he likes it more. Even though Red would be _perfect_ to blame, between the confidence in the dark, the lying, the way he’s been eyeing Etho, and the way he picks fights with Green and will no doubt have the other crewmate suspicious of him as well, Etho can still work with this. Green can take the suspicion for Red, and when Pink dies, the others will eject him out of pre existing fear.

These are the plans he mulls over in his head as Red takes his hand and practically drags him to electrical, like some kind of prey willingly walking right into the teeth of its hunter. He only lets go in order to mess with the lights, flipping switches and mumbling to himself when he flips all of them the wrong way first, and Etho uses that time to tap another button on his tablet.

The door closes with a hydraulic hiss, and Red doesn’t notice.

Red gives a satisfied sound when the lights finally come back, almost a self-affirming sort of cheer, before turning back around. It’s still not particularly bright in here, the lights of electrical ironically the weakest on these shoddy ships as they flicker above, but Etho knows Red can still tell perfectly well that they’re locked in here together. He looks past him at the door, staring at its closed state, but Etho can’t detect any fear in his demeanor at the sight of it.

“Well, that’s convenient.” He mumbles to himself, and Etho has to agree. Very convenient indeed.

There’s no reason to delay it any longer. Etho takes a step forward, silently approaching the human and slowly caging him into the corner by the lights panel. Red backs up until he runs out of space, his back hitting the wall and leaving him no choice but to stare up at Etho and wait for what he must know is coming.

This is the part Etho enjoys. Most of his work is spent waiting, watching and analyzing people around him for weaknesses and opportunities, a task that becomes dull after so many ships and useless after the people it was for are dead. So much time spent pretending, fitting in as flawlessly as possible into a society he’s never even personally seen, fitting into skin that doesn’t feel natural to him despite the nature of being a mimic by definition. But this moment, with a lone human cornered and moments away from no longer being able to tell anyone what they saw, he doesn’t have to pretend anymore.

It’s also the moment there’s no going back. Once they know, they have to die. He doesn’t think Red has realized that yet; he’s still staring up with wide eyes, watching Etho’s every move exactly like prey, though he’s never seen a cornered human’s face start turning red before, aside from the ones that get angry when the crew turns on them incorrectly.

“I guess we’re on the same page, huh?” Red chuckles nervously, giving him a weak smile that gives him pause. He’s also never had a human smile at their soon to be killer before. He isn’t sure what page Red is talking about, considering he’s pretty sure Red wouldn’t have attempted any kind of murder even despite how suspicious all of his behavior could be explained as, but it doesn’t really matter.

Etho is almost startled when Red reaches out toward him, a hesitant and slow reach that is distinctly not any kind of attack. Red fingers catch under a cyan helmet and pull it right off his head, an action Etho doesn’t have any need to prevent considering where all of this is leading.

“You have a mask on under your helmet?” Red asks, his voice low and whispered even though they’re alone and Etho knows better than anyone else these walls are soundproof. Etho expects the usual questioning, the demands of why he’d have a mask underneath an oxygenated space helmet, something about redundancy and suspicion that he’s had to listen to far too many times by now. “Can I..?”

Red’s fingers just catch on the edge of the fabric instead, giving a delicate tug while looking up, an expression on his face that Etho registers as one asking permission. It’s the same look he once saw a medic give another crewmate before helping them out of their suit to see their injury, something that still seems pointless to him. It’s such a strange, distinctly human action, asking permission before acting even when the action being requested is an entirely necessary one. What are they going to do, say no and die? He doesn’t get it.

Either way, he has no need to tell Red no, either. Red won’t be leaving this room.

He feels the fabric fall away, the skin of his face feeling too cold in the open air it’s so rarely exposed to in this form. He counts the moments in his head as the silence stretches on, waiting for the moment Red has finished processing what he’s seeing, for the moment he lurches backward or away while screaming in a vain attempt to warn someone else about what he’s just seen.

Humans all react a bit differently to things they aren’t expecting, but most follow a pattern. There are the ones that reflexively back away from something before identifying it, and others that sit still, letting the surprise register in their minds before they react. Red, it seems, is the latter; his eyes dart back and forth over Etho’s exposed face, taking in the sight of features that aren’t _quite_ human despite the best of his attempts. His teeth are obscured with his mouth closed, but he knows there’s something not fully right about his best attempt at mimicking a human face, something that gives him away without fail each time one sees it. 

If it was something that mattered, he’d almost be concerned at how slowly Red seems to be putting that together, still only staring silently and not reacting long past the time any other human should have.

Finally, Red does something. He looks up, meeting Etho’s eyes again, his voice even quieter than it was the last time he spoke. “I had a guess, but…”

So he _did_ suspect him. It’s best that Red was the one to make the foolish decision to fix lights alone, or trusting the wrong person to go with him, then. If someone else had turned up dead, Etho would have been the first one Red would have pointed a finger at if he was already suspicious.

“... but I had no idea you’d be _this_ pretty under that helmet.”

_Wait, what?_

Etho’s internal analytics, his process of identifying and storing information for future use, feels like it dies inside him. He’s left staring back at this strange human, blinking, his head empty of thoughts as he tries to identify what that’s supposed to mean or how he’s supposed to react to it, to a point he may be rivaling Red’s earlier silence.

Red fidgets in the lack of response, his face beginning to match his suit color more than is probably healthy.

“Uh, was that too forward?” He asks, grinning in a way that Etho feels gives away just how much he isn’t remotely regretful of saying anything he’s said. It’s a strange mix of reactions, the way he looks both flustered while sounding completely shameless, but both tie together enough to make it click in Etho’s head what his intentions actually are.

It’s not something he’s too unfamiliar with, he’s been on enough ships to see the times some crewmates gravitate to each other. The ones that look at each other differently than the rest, sticking together, sharing sleeping quarters during rest hours. The same ones that look beyond broken and hollow when the other has been removed, some asking to be ejected or targeted next in the wake of not knowing how to cope without the connection they found here in the empty nothing.

Etho has not, however, ever had that gravitation aimed toward _him._

And it’s not something he’s entirely sure what to do with. The pairs he’s seen do seem to put the other first, vouching for each other no matter what or how suspicious the other looks, something which could become very useful if he needed it. On the other hand, Red should know what he is now, cornered in a dark room with a door locked behind them and seeing what’s under Etho’s mask, but at the same time Etho isn’t actually sure he’s figured it out yet if he hasn’t tried to escape

This situation is entirely new. He has no idea what to do with this.

“Etho?” Red asks, his voice louder this time. “Oh no I haven’t broken you, have I?”

There’s an option here. If Red really hasn’t realized, he could back away now, use him as someone to vouch for him later, but he would be throwing away his chance to get a body down now while no one would be able to identify who did it. As well, Red could be faking, knowing fully well what situation he’s in and trying to feign ignorance to get out of it, only to call an emergency and turn his finger toward Etho when he does.

He can’t risk it, Red has to die. Surging forward, moving before any sort of defensive reaction can be made, he pins Red to the wall with no possible escape. The human’s back hits the wall with an audible thud, his eyes widening and a startled intake of breath at the action being the only usual reactions he’s exhibited this entire time. He does nothing else usual, though; not even when Etho’s hand takes a threatening hold around his throat, sharp nails pressing against his fragile skin through the thick glove material, when humans normally grab at his wrist in some attempt to take control back. Red does not, his arms staying limp at his sides.

“I mean, you could just say no.” Red comments, shrugging, leaving Etho to just blink at him again. This human can’t be _serious._

“That’s-- that’s not what this is about.” Etho finally says back, for the first time since running into Red at all. He doesn’t normally bother talking to his food, it’s not worth having a conversation with someone who won’t exist in a few more moments, but he’s starting to feel like this enigma is going to keep him awake at night if he doesn’t figure out what the _hell_ is wrong with this human.

In the process of him speaking, however, he notes the feeling of Red tensing beneath his grip. His muscles go rigid, shock taking over his expression, the human’s eyes directly staring down toward Etho’s mouth and the rows of pointed teeth within that he must have seen. The pieces click together in the oblivious crewmate’s head, his face betraying the realization as it dawns on him exactly what Etho is, and exactly what’s about to happen to him, and the fact there’s nothing he can do about it, especially with claws already against his throat that he did nothing to try to stop.

Not that he could have, anyway, but Etho thinks it must be a very disappointing feeling to realize one is in danger too late to even try to do anything about it.

“...Oh.” Red whispers, looking back up again. He’s finally figured it out, and now that he’s fully aware, this should be the moment he starts wiggling and fighting back. Or maybe trying to plead; some of them try that, mentioning family or some such nonsense back home as reasons they should be spared. He’s seen a stubborn acceptance on a handful, too, the ones that say something about refusing to give him some kind of satisfaction in seeing them afraid, though that is always forgotten once they’re bleeding out.

Red, as seems to be becoming a normal trait for him, does nothing like any other target. Nothing in his reactions or demeanor show any kind of fear, nothing stubborn or even the overly confident denial of humans that think they’re invincible up until the moment they’re proven so very wrong. He’s just looking, curiously staring up with a look that feels more disarming than should be possible. It makes Etho feel like Red knows something he doesn’t, like he has the upper hand here somehow to allow him freedom from being afraid at all.

It isn’t normal. Nothing about any of this is normal. It makes him feel, for the first time since his first missions before he’d seen enough of human behavior to replicate and predict it properly, like he’s out of his depth. This isn’t the way humans are supposed to react, and he doesn’t know what that means, or what kind of danger that spells for himself.

For all he knows, everyone is fully aware of where Red is, of what he’s doing here, that he’s here with no one but the cyan ‘crewmate’ himself. Maybe Red isn’t afraid because the entire crew will know if Etho kills him here, that vengeance for his death will be immediate and inescapable, that nothing Etho does or says will get him out of the airlock by then.

“Hey, you’re thinking too hard.” Red’s voice cuts in through his internal debate, with a tone that’s still so casual it does nothing to make this any more like it’s supposed to be. His hand raises up again, still too slow to be any kind of attack, but at this point Etho holds his guard at the fact it could be a ploy of any kind to save his skin. “I can help with that.”

He once heard a blue teammate say something about not knowing whether something was a threat or a promise, and he thinks he understands what that meant now. Defenseless and only a squeeze of sharp claws away from being fatally wounded, Red shouldn’t intimidate him as much as he is with the calm confidence he has. And really, Etho should do exactly that, finish the job here and slither away into a vent before Red can mess with his head any more than he already has, but he also still has this strange curiosity to understand why this one human isn’t afraid.

That red hand raises higher, closer and closer, and Etho resists the urge to lean away from it as if Red has any ability to hurt him with an empty hand that doesn’t even have nails strong enough to cut flesh. All it does is settle onto his face, holding there with the same sort of delicate gentleness he’d shown when pulling Etho’s mask off.

It’s a stark contrast to the literal death grip Etho has on Red, himself.

Which in and of itself doesn’t make any sense, either. Humans react in the same manner as they’re treated, hostility grants hostility and violence or feeling threatened makes them lash out just the same. But despite that, Red isn’t mimicking Etho’s hold on him in the least, and the feeling it gives him is uncomfortable and squirmy within his chest.

It’s distracting, a weird feeling that he doesn’t understand and he doesn’t like. It feels like he’s budding another defect, something to go along with his imperfect shifting, giving him yet another thing to work around to accomplish his missions without getting caught.

Red’s hand moves, reaching up and behind his head before finally turning firm. This must be the turning point, the moment Red uses all of this confusion against him as an opportunity to flee, having waited for such a moment of weakness to allow him escape. Etho can’t let him do that, tightening his own grip in reaction at the same moment Red pulls him down.

It takes him a moment to register Red’s mouth on his, soft and warm and still pulling him closer. Nothing about this is a defense or an attack, any attempt to survive, feeling more like one of those moments where a crewmate does something extreme as a last action before their death, usually a spiteful one in an attempt to kill the imposters with them. But Red is distinctly not trying to kill him, gloved fingers threading into his hair and pulling him down closer still, the faintest of wheezed breath escaping to remind Etho he still has a tight grip on the weakening human in front of him.

He should let him fade, pass out and quietly die right here, seeing as Red seems perfectly inclined to let him do as much anyway. It seems Red is rubbing off on him, however, or maybe the human managed to share whatever infection of irrationality he has in this process, but whatever the reason, Etho lets go without thinking. He lets his grip loosen and fall away, the threat of deadly claws and no oxygen alike both tools no longer holding weight over Red’s life, giving the human the perfect chance to break free and escape an imposter encounter alive.

And Red _doesn’t._

It shouldn’t surprise him by now, this enigma of a human that breaks all of his expectations, but he’s sure any creature would take the chance to escape and live when given it. But this human doesn’t even try, doesn’t even seem to consider it. He gasps in a heavy breath that he surely needed, and then he tightens his grip on Etho’s hair, tilts his head, and ventures his tongue past razor sharp teeth without hesitation.

Etho has seen the bonded crewmates kiss before, seen the ones in storage or medbay that look up with flushed faces and shortened breath when caught, and he’s never really understood the appeal or why they’d bother with such an activity. He understands breeding to further their species, of course, but as best he can tell merely squishing their faces together has no substantial merit or purpose whatsoever.

And he’s pretty sure it still doesn’t, but Red’s tongue is soft against his and the human makes a muffled squeak when he pushes back against it with his own, something he knows he shouldn’t enjoy as much as he does. It gives him some sense of satisfaction, not entirely unlike the feeling that courses through him after a successfully completed and survived kill. Subconsciously, he files this activity away under the category of _fun_ , apparently for humans and his kind both. A rare similarity, it seems.

The sound of the door hissing open reaches his ears, something Etho knows he should be worried about, but he has more inclination to hiss at the intruder for interrupting his activity than spoiling what could have been a kill. Red breaks away at the sound of it, turning his head toward the door and saying nothing as Etho keeps his own uncanny face angled away from sight.

Red could use this moment to escape. He could cry out for help, tell the other crewmate what he’s found out about their supposed Cyan counterpart, end Etho’s mission in one split sentence and have the imposter sent out of the airlock without a single kill. “Grian? Are you… okay?” A voice calls out, one Etho hasn’t personally spoken to before, giving him no color to place to it. They sound concerned, their words breathless like they ran here in a rush, and no doubt would have been the one to discover Red’s body if Etho had actually killed him.

And it means he can’t, now. Being sold out aside, they’ve been seen together now, and Red turning up dead at this point would only turn fingers toward him. He doesn’t feel as bothered about losing his kill as he thinks he should, but he does have a sense of creeping dread at the power Red now holds over him, their balance switched in a split moment and his life now hanging more in the human’s hands than he ever should have allowed to happen.

“I’m--” Red, Grian, starts to speak. Etho waits for him to tell the other human exactly what all of this is so he can be shoved out of the airlock into open space. The thought terrifies him beyond nothing else, but if he wants any chance to survive or talk his way out of it, he has to look calm. He isn’t doomed to the void of space until he’s actually in it, after all. “I’m fine, Iskall. We’re, uh, a little busy.”

Etho blinks. Turns, just enough to look at Red without revealing his face to the crewmate by the door, and stares. That isn’t what he should be saying. He shouldn’t be covering for the person that was about to kill him.

“Are you two… good? Here?”

“Yup. Don’t worry about us, nothing sus going on here.” Red waves his hand, shooing the other human away. There’s a long, hesitant pause, one Etho can just imagine being punctuated by a discerning stare from the other crewmate, but their footsteps finally turn and echo away down the hall. Red lets out a breath when the sound has faded. “Well. That was… an interruption.”

He looks comfortable, a relaxed attitude notable from the way he’s holding his body, even now after he sent the other human away to be alone _again_ with the person he knows is an imposter, the one he must know was going to kill him. It doesn’t make sense.

“Why did you send him away?” Etho cuts to the point, watching for a reaction. He wants to know what Red’s intentions are, what in this universe would make him choose such a course of action _against_ survival. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

The way Red has to look up at him, their height differences exacerbated by their proximity, is what makes Etho realize he’s pushing the human against the wall again in his demand for an explanation. He has no intention of hurting or killing him now, knowing there’s no way he can get away with it without that witness turning it on him, but he looms over the human in the red suit like he intends to anyway. Maybe partially to instill some kind of fear, to regain control over all of this; he just gets a shrug.

“I didn’t see a reason to.” Red hums, smirking. Then he leans up, his breath warm on Etho’s face as his arms slip back behind the imposter’s neck like they belong there. “I thought we were getting along very well.”

The contact feels like it _does something_ to Etho. He knows full well that humans don’t have any way of artificially manipulating others, of casting an effect someone can’t resist, but it feels like Red has found a way to anyway. Between knowing he can’t kill him now, and the way Red is right back to holding onto him and pulling him closer again after sending his only safety net away willingly, it feels like something shuts off.

“Would you like to get back to what we were doing?” Grian breathes against his barely not-human mouth, fingers threading into his hair in a sensation he can only describe as _nice._ There it is again, that so very human behavior of asking instead of doing, that enigma of pausing before taking action. It feels especially pointless when Red is already ghosting phantom touches of his lips over Etho’s own.

He shouldn’t be doing any of this. It’s a waste of time. The time he’s wasting in here with Red now could be spent elsewhere, creating fake bonds with other humans to earn their favor in votes when he needs them, or documenting their pathing in his head, or finding one alone to replace the kill he lost here. He could use this as an alibi, even; that other human saw him here, all he’d have to do is bend the timing to claim he was right here when someone else turns up dead.

But then again, as Red nibbles at his lip with those absurdly dull teeth, this could pose as valuable knowledge as well. Information like he’s gained from this interaction already could be useful in future missions when presented with situations similar to more than one he’s had prior, of crewmates teasing him for a lack of knowing what they were talking about on this topic. He understands now what that orange crewmate back then was talking about, the way Red’s mouth has a distinct taste of nothing and yet so very _Red_ at the same time, knowledge he could have used at the time to fit in more smoothly.

Etho gives in, accepting the fact he can work with this and use it after all. Red makes a pleased noise when he leans in, mimicking the human’s earlier action of tilting his head to fit together better. Grian is soft, melting under his touch in a pliant sort of way that seems so very like prey and yet different. It contrasts distinctly with the way his hands close into fists, tugging at Etho’s hair in the process and making a growl try to rise at the back of his throat.

Red’s grip tightens when he hears it, the exact opposite of what he should do if he had any sense of self preservation, but that’s a fact long solidified by this point. Etho isn’t sure what he’s trying to do, what the purpose of trying to get a reaction is, but the human nips at his lip hard enough to cause a sting of pain despite the lack of sharpness and smirks when a louder growl rises from him at the feeling of it.

It _almost_ feels like a victim fighting back, someone already drowning in their own blood trying to survive or maim the imposter responsible before they expire, but not quite. Grian still holds him close, closer even when one hand falls down to grab at Etho’s suit and pull their bodies flush, even as it feels like his other actions are trying to tempt Etho into attacking him after all. It’s strange, and it doesn’t make any sense to him no matter how many times he runs it through every bit of information he has on this species, trying to match Red’s behavior to some kind of logic.

And it makes even less sense when Red pulls away, his chest heaving for oxygen, and the first thing he does is tilt his head back against the wall. He stares down his nose at Etho, eyes half closed, the pale and exceptionally fragile skin of his throat exposed fully without any attempt to protect it from the person that almost used exactly that to kill him earlier. There’s something expectant to his face, waiting for something Etho doesn’t know, but he doesn’t pull away or complain when Etho leans down to bring his mouth toward that fragile skin.

He can feel the human’s pulse against his lips, a steady thrum in his neck that tells just how very alive he still is. It’s a strange feature, these beings with their heartbeats and rushing blood that give away both fear and excitement; such unique emotions, both told by the same physical reaction. So easily could one be mistaken for the other, and for a moment, he closes his eyes and believes the wild thrumming under his lips is one of fear, that this is just the same as any other altercation and that Red isn’t the first human to ever survive with knowledge of what he is, and that he's about to bite down and change exactly that. That fantasy is broken as the human leans back more, shoving his life even more fully into Etho’s hands than he already has, making it clear beyond a doubt that he isn’t afraid and he has no intent in trying to protect himself.

There’s never been a need before to see just how much force it actually takes before his teeth break delicate skin, instead just biting as hard as he can and questioning nothing else. But now he’s careful, letting sharp points graze just barely over the surface and feeling a sense of amazement at the way they leave no bloody lines in their wake. Grian’s breath hitches by his ear, the human’s hands pulling at him still as if trying to get him closer again despite the physiological impossibility of that.

And as much as Etho knows that as a fact, he wants to be closer too. He doesn’t even take notice of his own hands finding their way to Grian’s body until they’re already there, cyan gloves pressed against a red suit and feeling the shape of muscles beneath. He knows what human bodies look like, the way their biology is put together and the locations and variations in how their physical forms can look, a requirement in order to mimic them properly as it is, but he’s never paid attention to it quite in the way he is now. The way Red’s chest is soft to the touch and yet firm beneath his skin when pushed, or the subtle shapes defined there and hidden by the bulk of his suit, or most notably of all, the way the human seems to melt and shiver under Etho’s own hands.

He’s never seen anything like this before. His crewmates have always been focused only on their tasks, on themselves, offering just enough of something personal in order to function with the others at the bare minimum. But Grian pays no mind to anything but him right now, showing a personal and vulnerable side he had some idea existed but had never really thought about before now. It’s almost charming, and he doesn’t know how to describe the feeling but he thinks it may be similar to the fondness some of the humans have for things they describe as _cute._ That strange fascination with things that catch their fondness, whether they’re useful or meaningful things or not.

It makes a strange urge settle within him, something pulling at him. It’s like the instinct that draws him to kill, when he notices all of the details lining up just right for a kill that won’t be pinned on him, the urge to snap their bones and leave a crumpled body in his wake that pulls his limbs to action. The feeling pulling at his body now is similar, something urging him to move, and he doesn’t know what it is; but he follows it, letting instinct guide him, curious to see where it takes him.

It leads him to wrap an arm behind Grian’s back, holding him close in a grip completely different from one meant for prey. His other hand wanders, slides up over suit covered muscles, a fond feeling of just wanting to touch the human settling behind the action. And most of all, his teeth on the human’s neck turn into the jarringly gentle laving of a tongue over fragile skin, in an action far too similar to affectionate grooming to still be considered purely informational.

That realization settles in, snapping Etho out of whatever haze he’s fallen into. The urge to kill the human in front of him, regardless of whether he should or there being a witness or not entirely aside, is _gone._ The part of him that wants to surge forward and sink teeth into delicate flesh and break vital functions, to taste blood and feel life fade from the body in his grip, to leave behind nothing but the smeared drying red of a struggle and a mangled shell of what once was a living being, none of it is anywhere to be found. He tries to find it, to dig within himself and see just how buried it’s gotten under this confusingly distracting situation so unlike any other, but all he can find is the feeling of wanting to pull this human into a nest and continue this interaction they’re having now.

“Etho?” Grian’s voice cuts into his thoughts, confused with a tinge of actual concern for the first time. His sinking reality has made him go rigid, frozen in place against the human, and Grian’s hands are smoothing gently against the back of his shoulders in a way that feels too similar to the affectionate grooming he wanted to do. Everything about this is soft and gentle, affectionate and close, too much like mates taking care of each other.

He can’t have that. Grian is his target, like everyone else on this ship. Their fate is to die by his hands, to be just another statistic in his history of ghost ships. Nothing about any of this gives him the option of letting any of them live, it’s not a possibility even if he _wanted_ it to be. Either they die, or he does. There are no other options.

Etho wrenches away, ripping apart at the urge to stay right where he was. He feels unsteady on his own feet, scrambled and clumsy without the killer instinct that’s been replaced by something noxiously soft and fluffy. And he doesn’t know what that means, what Red has done to him, but the most logic he can force together in his too warm head tells him he needs to create distance to break whatever it is Red has caused.

Red looks startled, the closest to fear he’s presented this entire time as he reaches out toward Etho’s retreating form. “Wait--” He starts to say, the precursor to something Etho can only estimate to be some kind of argument to make him stay, something to make the strange fuzz in his head heavier than it is. He’s already allowed far too much of that to happen, letting Red pull control out from his hands and turn all of this on him, and he can’t even kill the human to regain any semblance of normality.

The most normal thing he can do is escape away to the back of electrical, morphing down into the vent fast enough to scrape half shifted skin against the edges as he goes, and hope he can shed this vulnerability Red has given him somewhere deep within the ship.

[Art by cooler-cactus-block (Ecto)](https://cooler-cactus-block.tumblr.com/)


End file.
